"Honor Bound" Chapter Fifteen
Jul. 21st, 2007 03:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kristen999Title: “Honor Bound” Chapter 15
Author: Kristen999
Character(s): Sheppard, Ronon, Rodney (Friendship) Appearances from the rest.
Genre(s): Stargate Atlantis: Gen. Angst. H/C.
Rating: T for language and violence
Summary: Sometimes all that matters are the codes and values you uphold. A deadly vendetta will test loyalties, limits and friendships, with more at stake than anyone realizes. Contains Shep Whump.
Spoilers: Will play around with what could have happened between “Sateda” and “Common Ground”.
Notes: I'll be posting a chapter every few days, until it's complete. I want to thank Beth for all of her help, prodding, and changing all that red to purple. I also want to thank Mandy for all of her invaluable encouragement and suggestions. You gals rock!
Previous Chapters
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Ronon made steady progress through the forest; the only thing impeding a faster pace was keeping an eye out for Voulsh. Deep within his soul, where instinct and impulse collided, his internal guidance system knew he’d gotten there before the assassin. He forged through the brush harder, knowing that time was an enemy he couldn't overcome, but distance was just a physical obstacle.
The jumper loomed several clicks ahead, the metallic ship clashing with the natural hues of the trees and earth surrounding it. The Doc was right; it was as if Sheppard had carved out the perfect space for the ship to fit between two large trees that swallowed up the sky. The soil outside the jumper was disturbed by his team leader's tracks. Normally he'd be pissed at the sloppy trail of boot prints and the third mark made by the cane, but he knew that the colonel wanted to be caught.
Ronon followed the progress that led towards higher ground with his blaster at ready. The tracks were clumsy; he knew that Sheppard had to be hurting, the drag marks and uneven gait of the trail left made his craw twist in knots.
His ears were attuned to the vibrations all around him; air fluctuations, insects buzzing, the ebb and flow of energy. There was no good way to stay hidden, but he kept towards the canyon wall, eyes alert for any sudden movement as he made his way towards his objective.
Sheppard had picked the best strategic location available; unless he came over the mountain, there was no way to sneak up and ambush him. Despite not being the most physically imposing commander, his friend made up what he lacked in brawn with his mind. The vegetation beneath Ronon’s feet thinned to the hardness of heat fused solid rock, his eyes squinting in the sunlight as he looked for his friend's position.
He put himself in the man's shoes and searched for cover that could offer up the needed protection without having to scale higher. His eyes stared straight away, filtering out all natural tones until he spotted the black color of an Atlantis uniform. The sleeves peeked out over a boulder, the barrel of a P90 resting in the L shape of the rock.
Ronon cawed a low bird noise that the colonel answered with a call of his own.
He listened to the air before he ventured; a breeze rustled his braids, but nothing caused his blood to race through his veins. Without painting a picture for Voulsh to trace, he made his way over towards his friend, ducking behind the group of boulders.
Sheppard's voice was furious and strained, his eyes large, the pupils tiny within a stormy ocean. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Could ask you the same question, but we both know the answer. Why don't we skip the argument and get straight to the killing?”
The weather outside was a little on the humid side, but it wasn't sweltering and the wind was refreshing. His team leader's hair was laden with sweat, trails dripped down his face, the front and sides of his shirt were soaked and his complexion was flushed. Sheppard's body was sprawled over the rock he leaned on undoubtedly because he wasn't able to stand anymore… or hide the way his hands trembled occasionally.
“You look like crap.”
“Thanks...I feel like it, too.”
Ronon crouched down, tilting his head as he scanned for signs of movement. “You got a plan?”
“I planted C-4 along the wall.... between that and drillin' Voulsh full of holes, I thought I'd just wait... for him to come over here and kick his ass,” Sheppard explained.
“So, not so much.”
Sheppard glared at him and Ronon rubbed at his chin, twisting the hair there as he studied his comrade. “Can you move at all?”
The colonel pushed off of the boulder to stand on one leg as he waved at his cane. “If I have to.”
Ronon grunted, not overly impressed, and took off back towards the tree line, leaving behind his teammate to gape at his actions. He skidded to a halt near the bottom of the incline, eyes sweeping the ground until they came upon a few fallen branches. He tested a few out, judging length and durability. Before he took off, he closed his eyes, listening to the ground, feeling the natural rhythm of life hum all around.
He made his way back, handing the hearty piece of wood to his friend. “This will hold your weight more than that toothpick could.”
“This isn't your fight,” the colonel growled.
“It’s part of my war.”
Sheppard took the thick branch and stabbed it in the ground. “Ronon, I don't have regrets for what I did to protect Atlantis during the Genii siege. Some people out there have taken a different point of view and I need to face the consequences of my actions... Don't make me regret getting you involved.”
“Did it matter to you what happened to that village when the Wraith culled them, even though my presence brought them there?”
“No... but...”
“Those villagers wanted revenge... maybe they had the right… maybe not. They did what they felt they had to and I was forced to face my past. But you wouldn't let me do it alone... even when I threatened you.”
The ends of the colonel's mouth curled up after the last part, then he bowed his head in contemplation. “I just can't risk anymore lives...”
Ronon grabbed his commander's bicep. “The risk is our choice... it’s what brothers do for one another.”
The colonel looked him in the eye and for the first time he saw the true John Sheppard... the one who would not normally allow himself to accept or admit to feeling the same type of kinship.
Sheppard cleared his throat. “Alright, big guy, let's do this.”
“You draw him out into the open and I'll take care of the rest.”
“Right... I'll just...”
“Be bait.”
The colonel's brow furrowed. “Okay... And you'll be?”
“I'll be right outside the tree line.”
“And the whole invisibility thing?”
Ronon looked at his team leader in all seriousness. “He won't be using his cloak, not when he thinks it'll just be you two. He'll try to finish you off face to face... out of respect.”
“Why is it I earn respect from all the wrong people?”
“We should get ready. Just stay here. It won't be hard for Voulsh to find you.”
“Don't worry....wasn't plannin’ on movin' if I didn't have to.”
Sheppard leaned over the rock, setting his elbows on top, the rest of his body supported by the boulder so there wasn't any weight on his left leg. Ronon patted him on the back lightly, thinking anything harder would knock the man down.
“Ronon?”
He spun around.
“Good luck… and thank you.”
“Leaving no man behind applies to you too, Sheppard.”
Ronon left to find a spot where he could listen to the woods and watch any approach towards the colonel's position. He sniffed the air, searching for any changes in the breeze and laid a hand along the ground, feeling the warmth creep into his skin. Unlike the artificial halls of Atlantis, he could connect out here, immerse himself with all five senses, detecting any slight nuance.
Ronon waited--- watching, listening, feeling everything that swirled and reacted to the life elements that surrounded him. He noticed the blur in his peripheral vision, his pupils fixing on the shimmer and all of its graceful and deliberate movement.
He could feel the pulse of the ground under him...a drumming of blood coursing through his body, the tribal beat urging him to fight. There was an insatiable urge to use his blaster, but they had all learned the hard way how ineffective the weapon was against Voulsh's suit. The light refraction of the exoskeleton moved away from the shaded trees and out into the open, begging to be struck down. Ronon remained in a low crouch, his entire body coiled tightly, biding his time.
The air crackled as the cloak disengaged, revealing the confident black clad figure of the Hunter.
Ronon stalked as close as he dared without disclosing himself, narrowing the gap until the only thing standing between both warriors was the breath it would take to lunge.
Voulsh unsheathed a six inch blade and methodically turned in his direction; he held up his free hand in a taunt and waved Ronon over with it.
He charged, the air filling with the bellow of his attack.
------------
Ronon's sword cut the air as he made a large sweep at Voulsh's neck in hopes of a quick kill. The hunter stepped back, using his knife to block the strike inches from his concealed face. His sword skidded across the steel, glancing off his enemy's protected forearm. Ronon twirled around for another quick swipe, only to have his weapon gnash against the blade once more.
The hunter backed away, pulling out a second knife and twirling them around simultaneously in a show of skill. Ronon's fists were a blur of motion, leveling strike after strike– each flash of his sword connecting with alternating blocks. Metal meet metal, the hunter's knives glancing back every blow.
Each warrior backed away, circling the other. Ronon searched the black exoskeleton for a source of weakness, knowing that the chest was clad with the heaviest of the outer layer. He needed to seek the abdomen or below the belly to inflict damage.
Voulsh charged forward, locking hilts with one blade as he tried to stab Ronon in the chest with the other. He blocked the steel using his wrist; bracelet and black leather pushed against each other until Ronon launched a knee into the Hunter's belly. It smacked uselessly into the thick protection and both fighters pushed off and away from each other.
They circled one another once again, Ronon checking out of the corner of his eye to verify that Sheppard was staying put. There wasn't anything the colonel could do but get in the way ---and he was grateful that the pilot knew he'd be distraction.
“You’ve protected him well, Satedan.” The alien voice was staticky... unnatural.
Ronon grinned, eyes narrowed at his opponent. “I still am.”
He expected the flourish; sunlight glinted off of the blades as they slashed in every direction, across....diagonal...in high and low swooping arcs. Ronon avoided the first flurry, dropping his heavy sword and pulling out his favorite knife within seconds to parry the deadly attack. His blade cut across the Hunter's midline, just as Voulsh's steel sliced through his shirt, breaking the skin.
Ronon felt a warm trickle of blood, but the flesh wound was minor. “That the best you can do?”
Voulsh twirled the knife in his left hand.
It was merely a distraction as he threw the right one at his head---Ronon ducked, expecting the ploy. It was his turn to change things up and took a page from Sheppard's book as he full body tackled the assassin. His momentum and surprise was enough to send them both flying to the ground, Ronon landing on top with a crunch.
Hands locked with wrists... knives held in wavering motion away from the other's flesh. Ronon grunted, trying to plunge the tip of his steel into the damaged part of Voulsh's mask. Close up, the helmet looked like the mask Sheppard wore in his 302 with a section to protect the skull, a face visor and oxygen device. He knew the thing was already in poor shape and, much like an arm wrestling match, Ronon allowed his hand to fall to the wayside, giving him just the right angle.
POP
He jabbed his right elbow into the center of Voulsh's nose, cracking the mask. It was enough of a distraction for Ronon to twist his foe's knife hand away and pin it to the ground with his left forearm. Air seeped out of the helmet and he used the opportunity to jab his knife into the weakened area. The metal sunk into the breathing apparatus, but he wasn't able to plunge it all the way in---the blade unable to penetrate through the hard casing.
He tried to wrench the knife out so he could jab it back in harder when the Hunter smashed the heel of his boot into his side. The blow knocked him off balance, but not enough to dislodge him off of the assassin.
Blow after blow crashed into him; the heavy boot slammed all over his back and side, catching his ribs. He tried to plunge the knife back down, only to have it be knocked out of the way as the Hunter smashed his head into Ronon's face with a crack.
Blood spurted from his nose, the world tilted sideways and Ronon wasn't sure what was up or down anymore. A fist smashed the side of his head, making his brain bounce inside his skull just as another sock to the face made his vision blur as Voulsh got to his feet.
The Hunter wheezed strangely from his damaged mask and that was enough for Ronon to orient himself on. A fuzzy black blob came at him with a clumsy attack and he grabbed the bad guy's wrist, twisting it at a sharp angle until the knife fell from Voulsh's hand.
Victory was short-lived because the assassin reversed the hold, twisting his arm behind his back where his foe now stood behind him, bending his wrist back until the bone snapped.
Ronon roared as his arm was manipulated into an impossible angle and it cracked as well. His wrist and forearm exploded—his shoulder began to dislocate from its socket and he fought to stay on his feet, his head swimming from the firecracker of pain. An arm wrapped around his throat from behind.
With his free arm, he grappled the assassin from behind and, with all his strength, flipped him over his shoulder.
The Hunter landed on his back with a resounding thud.
Ronon's left arm hung limply by his side as he kicked Voulsh in the back of the head, screaming in fury as it connected. The air still leaked out from the mask and it muffled the assassin's grunt into a slithery hissing sound. He pulled out another knife one handed, prepared to saw through Voulsh’s exoskeleton if he had to.
Voulsh rolled over to his side and scrambled to his knees, pulling out a gun this time.
Every muscle seized as a blue energy bolt burst into Ronon’s chest, knocking the breath out of him and sending him to his knees.
Blood filled his mouth from where he’d bit his tongue and his body twitched as every nerve fired, sending him into a spasm that locked up all his muscles.
Voulsh wavered on his feet until he regained some equilibrium. The Hunter searched the ground, spotting Ronon's sword too far out of reach. When he spoke, his voice was garbled and electronic sounding, with hints of his real, guttural voice slipping through.
“You're skilled... but you have failed.”
Ronon considered just launching himself blindly, but he was growing numb as the pain began to fade and unconsciousness tugged at his mind.
The Hunter kept his blaster trained, not getting too close.
“You think you have honor....... but you're just........ a Javkaulf ...,” Ronon spat, fighting his betraying body and trying to bait the assassin.
“You cost me my honor... but I won't take your life. You'll live, only to know failure like I have. Knowing that you didn't live up to what you hold dear. Too bad you won't be awake to watch him die.”
Ronon's body trembled in blind fury as he tried to move... to spit... to do anything!
The Hunter just watched his useless struggle while all his energy bled away from the effects of the stun. Voulsh aimed his weapon and, in the background, he could hear Sheppard scream.
The last thing he heard as another energy bolt struck him and he was plunged into blackness was the sound of a P90.
-----------------------
Sheppard felt his heart slam against his sternum when the air twenty meters away glistened and the source of so much pain materialized. The guy two months early for Halloween stood out of reach. Ugly stood there, withdrawing his precious blade, making Sheppard's arm tingle from recent memory. The Hunter didn't stalk over; instead the menace turned around to face the woods and the forest exploded with Ronon's charge.
He found it hard to play the part of quiet observer, when one of his friends was fighting his battle, but Sheppard knew deep down not to screw this up. One wrong move and he became the liability that he loathed so, instead of joining the fray, he ran over other scenarios and options for attack if things went down the tubes.
Three minutes later, it looked like the good guys were losing and he grabbed his walking stick and placed weight on both feet. He took two steps before his leg awoke from its stupor, and a bottle rocket exploded down his limb and cut him down. Sheppard crumpled in a heap, writhing on the ground, hands wrapped around his thigh as if they could control the rebellion.
He lay there, waiting for the spots in his vision to clear and his ears to stop ringing. Puffing for breath, he dug through his vest until his fingers felt the morphine injector. Knowing what was at stake, he jabbed the thing into his hip, praying for the blissful cloud to extinguish the roaring flames. His head began to feel disconnected, like a balloon trying to drift away, and he tugged on the string before it floated elsewhere.
The stims were kept in another pocket and his gelatin fingers fumbled about for them. His eyelids were at half mast, enjoying the fluffy little clouds in the sky inviting him to slumber with them up high.
He clawed inside his vest, finally locating the needed med and he tried to stick it into his thigh, but nothing seemed to work quite right, his aim lazy and off. Double dipping the morphine in such a short amount of time probably had something to do with his lack of coordination, but deep in his mind, Sheppard was screaming.
He slammed the injector into his leg, filling his veins with Tabasco sauce, chili pepper and a jalapeño pick-me-up because the ephedrine didn't feel like THIS the first time. Everything glowed brighter, and a yellowish tint highlighted everything with halos and little sparkles.
God, did he feel GOOD. He stumbled around on the rocky ground until he saw Ronon's body jerk and stiffen as a blue beam hit him in the chest—dropping him like a rock.
God damn it!
Sheppard snagged his cane, hoisted himself back onto his feet and hobble-hopped as fast as his energized legs could carry him. He clutched his P90 and pulled it away from his tac vest just as his friend took another blast from the energy weapon.
“Ronon!”
“You sonuvabitch!!”
He held down the trigger, spraying the Hunter point blank with suppression fire, wobbling closer as he emptied his gun into the asshole assassin.
He was wasting ammunition, much of his fire power missing its mark, and those rounds striking the Hunter barely slowing him down.
Voulsh was on him in no time, wrenching the P90 out of his grip, ejecting the magazine and tossing the weapon aside. The Hunter backhanded the left side of his face, causing his head to snap sideways. Blood dripped down his chin from a split lip and the world teetered on the edge of blackness as he listed dangerously from the blow. Sheppard locked up his left leg to keep from falling and stared at his foe in defiance.
“If we're going to try to kill each other, why don't you take off that mask so we can do it face to face?”
Voulsh took a step back and unclasped the part of his helmet that connected at his shoulders, then undid some tabs and parts near his chin. The thing fell apart in pieces, the breathing apparatus dropping to the ground and the visor sliding into the helmet. After a moment of fiddling, the entire thing came away, revealing the gray skin of the Hunter's neck and the man who been stalking him for a week.
The hair on the Hunter's head was in tiny, short braids, each about an inch long, much like the ends of a rug. His flesh was gray, almost like a Wraith's from the lack of sunlight, with purple veins visible under the skin all across his forehead. There were two parallel scars above his left eye from what looked like a knife attack, and the pupils of his eyes were dark in a sea of deep blue.
Most of Voulsh's face was bruised from his up close encounter with his gun, his lips pale with another scar running over the corner and under his chin. The guy looked like a ghoul in many ways, except for the jet black cornbraids on his head.
“You really are ugly,” Sheppard muttered.
“I am going to enjoy this,” Voulsh cooed, the timbre of his voice deep and rich.
Sheppard cocked a challenging eyebrow and smiled. “Then I'm going to try to make it as unpleasant as possible.”
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Chapter Sixteen
A/N: Don't throw things at me, but Ronon deserved his own chapter. Not sure who's online with Potter mania going on, next update in a couple of days.
Author: Kristen999
Character(s): Sheppard, Ronon, Rodney (Friendship) Appearances from the rest.
Genre(s): Stargate Atlantis: Gen. Angst. H/C.
Rating: T for language and violence
Summary: Sometimes all that matters are the codes and values you uphold. A deadly vendetta will test loyalties, limits and friendships, with more at stake than anyone realizes. Contains Shep Whump.
Spoilers: Will play around with what could have happened between “Sateda” and “Common Ground”.
Notes: I'll be posting a chapter every few days, until it's complete. I want to thank Beth for all of her help, prodding, and changing all that red to purple. I also want to thank Mandy for all of her invaluable encouragement and suggestions. You gals rock!
Previous Chapters
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Ronon made steady progress through the forest; the only thing impeding a faster pace was keeping an eye out for Voulsh. Deep within his soul, where instinct and impulse collided, his internal guidance system knew he’d gotten there before the assassin. He forged through the brush harder, knowing that time was an enemy he couldn't overcome, but distance was just a physical obstacle.
The jumper loomed several clicks ahead, the metallic ship clashing with the natural hues of the trees and earth surrounding it. The Doc was right; it was as if Sheppard had carved out the perfect space for the ship to fit between two large trees that swallowed up the sky. The soil outside the jumper was disturbed by his team leader's tracks. Normally he'd be pissed at the sloppy trail of boot prints and the third mark made by the cane, but he knew that the colonel wanted to be caught.
Ronon followed the progress that led towards higher ground with his blaster at ready. The tracks were clumsy; he knew that Sheppard had to be hurting, the drag marks and uneven gait of the trail left made his craw twist in knots.
His ears were attuned to the vibrations all around him; air fluctuations, insects buzzing, the ebb and flow of energy. There was no good way to stay hidden, but he kept towards the canyon wall, eyes alert for any sudden movement as he made his way towards his objective.
Sheppard had picked the best strategic location available; unless he came over the mountain, there was no way to sneak up and ambush him. Despite not being the most physically imposing commander, his friend made up what he lacked in brawn with his mind. The vegetation beneath Ronon’s feet thinned to the hardness of heat fused solid rock, his eyes squinting in the sunlight as he looked for his friend's position.
He put himself in the man's shoes and searched for cover that could offer up the needed protection without having to scale higher. His eyes stared straight away, filtering out all natural tones until he spotted the black color of an Atlantis uniform. The sleeves peeked out over a boulder, the barrel of a P90 resting in the L shape of the rock.
Ronon cawed a low bird noise that the colonel answered with a call of his own.
He listened to the air before he ventured; a breeze rustled his braids, but nothing caused his blood to race through his veins. Without painting a picture for Voulsh to trace, he made his way over towards his friend, ducking behind the group of boulders.
Sheppard's voice was furious and strained, his eyes large, the pupils tiny within a stormy ocean. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Could ask you the same question, but we both know the answer. Why don't we skip the argument and get straight to the killing?”
The weather outside was a little on the humid side, but it wasn't sweltering and the wind was refreshing. His team leader's hair was laden with sweat, trails dripped down his face, the front and sides of his shirt were soaked and his complexion was flushed. Sheppard's body was sprawled over the rock he leaned on undoubtedly because he wasn't able to stand anymore… or hide the way his hands trembled occasionally.
“You look like crap.”
“Thanks...I feel like it, too.”
Ronon crouched down, tilting his head as he scanned for signs of movement. “You got a plan?”
“I planted C-4 along the wall.... between that and drillin' Voulsh full of holes, I thought I'd just wait... for him to come over here and kick his ass,” Sheppard explained.
“So, not so much.”
Sheppard glared at him and Ronon rubbed at his chin, twisting the hair there as he studied his comrade. “Can you move at all?”
The colonel pushed off of the boulder to stand on one leg as he waved at his cane. “If I have to.”
Ronon grunted, not overly impressed, and took off back towards the tree line, leaving behind his teammate to gape at his actions. He skidded to a halt near the bottom of the incline, eyes sweeping the ground until they came upon a few fallen branches. He tested a few out, judging length and durability. Before he took off, he closed his eyes, listening to the ground, feeling the natural rhythm of life hum all around.
He made his way back, handing the hearty piece of wood to his friend. “This will hold your weight more than that toothpick could.”
“This isn't your fight,” the colonel growled.
“It’s part of my war.”
Sheppard took the thick branch and stabbed it in the ground. “Ronon, I don't have regrets for what I did to protect Atlantis during the Genii siege. Some people out there have taken a different point of view and I need to face the consequences of my actions... Don't make me regret getting you involved.”
“Did it matter to you what happened to that village when the Wraith culled them, even though my presence brought them there?”
“No... but...”
“Those villagers wanted revenge... maybe they had the right… maybe not. They did what they felt they had to and I was forced to face my past. But you wouldn't let me do it alone... even when I threatened you.”
The ends of the colonel's mouth curled up after the last part, then he bowed his head in contemplation. “I just can't risk anymore lives...”
Ronon grabbed his commander's bicep. “The risk is our choice... it’s what brothers do for one another.”
The colonel looked him in the eye and for the first time he saw the true John Sheppard... the one who would not normally allow himself to accept or admit to feeling the same type of kinship.
Sheppard cleared his throat. “Alright, big guy, let's do this.”
“You draw him out into the open and I'll take care of the rest.”
“Right... I'll just...”
“Be bait.”
The colonel's brow furrowed. “Okay... And you'll be?”
“I'll be right outside the tree line.”
“And the whole invisibility thing?”
Ronon looked at his team leader in all seriousness. “He won't be using his cloak, not when he thinks it'll just be you two. He'll try to finish you off face to face... out of respect.”
“Why is it I earn respect from all the wrong people?”
“We should get ready. Just stay here. It won't be hard for Voulsh to find you.”
“Don't worry....wasn't plannin’ on movin' if I didn't have to.”
Sheppard leaned over the rock, setting his elbows on top, the rest of his body supported by the boulder so there wasn't any weight on his left leg. Ronon patted him on the back lightly, thinking anything harder would knock the man down.
“Ronon?”
He spun around.
“Good luck… and thank you.”
“Leaving no man behind applies to you too, Sheppard.”
Ronon left to find a spot where he could listen to the woods and watch any approach towards the colonel's position. He sniffed the air, searching for any changes in the breeze and laid a hand along the ground, feeling the warmth creep into his skin. Unlike the artificial halls of Atlantis, he could connect out here, immerse himself with all five senses, detecting any slight nuance.
Ronon waited--- watching, listening, feeling everything that swirled and reacted to the life elements that surrounded him. He noticed the blur in his peripheral vision, his pupils fixing on the shimmer and all of its graceful and deliberate movement.
He could feel the pulse of the ground under him...a drumming of blood coursing through his body, the tribal beat urging him to fight. There was an insatiable urge to use his blaster, but they had all learned the hard way how ineffective the weapon was against Voulsh's suit. The light refraction of the exoskeleton moved away from the shaded trees and out into the open, begging to be struck down. Ronon remained in a low crouch, his entire body coiled tightly, biding his time.
The air crackled as the cloak disengaged, revealing the confident black clad figure of the Hunter.
Ronon stalked as close as he dared without disclosing himself, narrowing the gap until the only thing standing between both warriors was the breath it would take to lunge.
Voulsh unsheathed a six inch blade and methodically turned in his direction; he held up his free hand in a taunt and waved Ronon over with it.
He charged, the air filling with the bellow of his attack.
------------
Ronon's sword cut the air as he made a large sweep at Voulsh's neck in hopes of a quick kill. The hunter stepped back, using his knife to block the strike inches from his concealed face. His sword skidded across the steel, glancing off his enemy's protected forearm. Ronon twirled around for another quick swipe, only to have his weapon gnash against the blade once more.
The hunter backed away, pulling out a second knife and twirling them around simultaneously in a show of skill. Ronon's fists were a blur of motion, leveling strike after strike– each flash of his sword connecting with alternating blocks. Metal meet metal, the hunter's knives glancing back every blow.
Each warrior backed away, circling the other. Ronon searched the black exoskeleton for a source of weakness, knowing that the chest was clad with the heaviest of the outer layer. He needed to seek the abdomen or below the belly to inflict damage.
Voulsh charged forward, locking hilts with one blade as he tried to stab Ronon in the chest with the other. He blocked the steel using his wrist; bracelet and black leather pushed against each other until Ronon launched a knee into the Hunter's belly. It smacked uselessly into the thick protection and both fighters pushed off and away from each other.
They circled one another once again, Ronon checking out of the corner of his eye to verify that Sheppard was staying put. There wasn't anything the colonel could do but get in the way ---and he was grateful that the pilot knew he'd be distraction.
“You’ve protected him well, Satedan.” The alien voice was staticky... unnatural.
Ronon grinned, eyes narrowed at his opponent. “I still am.”
He expected the flourish; sunlight glinted off of the blades as they slashed in every direction, across....diagonal...in high and low swooping arcs. Ronon avoided the first flurry, dropping his heavy sword and pulling out his favorite knife within seconds to parry the deadly attack. His blade cut across the Hunter's midline, just as Voulsh's steel sliced through his shirt, breaking the skin.
Ronon felt a warm trickle of blood, but the flesh wound was minor. “That the best you can do?”
Voulsh twirled the knife in his left hand.
It was merely a distraction as he threw the right one at his head---Ronon ducked, expecting the ploy. It was his turn to change things up and took a page from Sheppard's book as he full body tackled the assassin. His momentum and surprise was enough to send them both flying to the ground, Ronon landing on top with a crunch.
Hands locked with wrists... knives held in wavering motion away from the other's flesh. Ronon grunted, trying to plunge the tip of his steel into the damaged part of Voulsh's mask. Close up, the helmet looked like the mask Sheppard wore in his 302 with a section to protect the skull, a face visor and oxygen device. He knew the thing was already in poor shape and, much like an arm wrestling match, Ronon allowed his hand to fall to the wayside, giving him just the right angle.
POP
He jabbed his right elbow into the center of Voulsh's nose, cracking the mask. It was enough of a distraction for Ronon to twist his foe's knife hand away and pin it to the ground with his left forearm. Air seeped out of the helmet and he used the opportunity to jab his knife into the weakened area. The metal sunk into the breathing apparatus, but he wasn't able to plunge it all the way in---the blade unable to penetrate through the hard casing.
He tried to wrench the knife out so he could jab it back in harder when the Hunter smashed the heel of his boot into his side. The blow knocked him off balance, but not enough to dislodge him off of the assassin.
Blow after blow crashed into him; the heavy boot slammed all over his back and side, catching his ribs. He tried to plunge the knife back down, only to have it be knocked out of the way as the Hunter smashed his head into Ronon's face with a crack.
Blood spurted from his nose, the world tilted sideways and Ronon wasn't sure what was up or down anymore. A fist smashed the side of his head, making his brain bounce inside his skull just as another sock to the face made his vision blur as Voulsh got to his feet.
The Hunter wheezed strangely from his damaged mask and that was enough for Ronon to orient himself on. A fuzzy black blob came at him with a clumsy attack and he grabbed the bad guy's wrist, twisting it at a sharp angle until the knife fell from Voulsh's hand.
Victory was short-lived because the assassin reversed the hold, twisting his arm behind his back where his foe now stood behind him, bending his wrist back until the bone snapped.
Ronon roared as his arm was manipulated into an impossible angle and it cracked as well. His wrist and forearm exploded—his shoulder began to dislocate from its socket and he fought to stay on his feet, his head swimming from the firecracker of pain. An arm wrapped around his throat from behind.
With his free arm, he grappled the assassin from behind and, with all his strength, flipped him over his shoulder.
The Hunter landed on his back with a resounding thud.
Ronon's left arm hung limply by his side as he kicked Voulsh in the back of the head, screaming in fury as it connected. The air still leaked out from the mask and it muffled the assassin's grunt into a slithery hissing sound. He pulled out another knife one handed, prepared to saw through Voulsh’s exoskeleton if he had to.
Voulsh rolled over to his side and scrambled to his knees, pulling out a gun this time.
Every muscle seized as a blue energy bolt burst into Ronon’s chest, knocking the breath out of him and sending him to his knees.
Blood filled his mouth from where he’d bit his tongue and his body twitched as every nerve fired, sending him into a spasm that locked up all his muscles.
Voulsh wavered on his feet until he regained some equilibrium. The Hunter searched the ground, spotting Ronon's sword too far out of reach. When he spoke, his voice was garbled and electronic sounding, with hints of his real, guttural voice slipping through.
“You're skilled... but you have failed.”
Ronon considered just launching himself blindly, but he was growing numb as the pain began to fade and unconsciousness tugged at his mind.
The Hunter kept his blaster trained, not getting too close.
“You think you have honor....... but you're just........ a Javkaulf ...,” Ronon spat, fighting his betraying body and trying to bait the assassin.
“You cost me my honor... but I won't take your life. You'll live, only to know failure like I have. Knowing that you didn't live up to what you hold dear. Too bad you won't be awake to watch him die.”
Ronon's body trembled in blind fury as he tried to move... to spit... to do anything!
The Hunter just watched his useless struggle while all his energy bled away from the effects of the stun. Voulsh aimed his weapon and, in the background, he could hear Sheppard scream.
The last thing he heard as another energy bolt struck him and he was plunged into blackness was the sound of a P90.
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Sheppard felt his heart slam against his sternum when the air twenty meters away glistened and the source of so much pain materialized. The guy two months early for Halloween stood out of reach. Ugly stood there, withdrawing his precious blade, making Sheppard's arm tingle from recent memory. The Hunter didn't stalk over; instead the menace turned around to face the woods and the forest exploded with Ronon's charge.
He found it hard to play the part of quiet observer, when one of his friends was fighting his battle, but Sheppard knew deep down not to screw this up. One wrong move and he became the liability that he loathed so, instead of joining the fray, he ran over other scenarios and options for attack if things went down the tubes.
Three minutes later, it looked like the good guys were losing and he grabbed his walking stick and placed weight on both feet. He took two steps before his leg awoke from its stupor, and a bottle rocket exploded down his limb and cut him down. Sheppard crumpled in a heap, writhing on the ground, hands wrapped around his thigh as if they could control the rebellion.
He lay there, waiting for the spots in his vision to clear and his ears to stop ringing. Puffing for breath, he dug through his vest until his fingers felt the morphine injector. Knowing what was at stake, he jabbed the thing into his hip, praying for the blissful cloud to extinguish the roaring flames. His head began to feel disconnected, like a balloon trying to drift away, and he tugged on the string before it floated elsewhere.
The stims were kept in another pocket and his gelatin fingers fumbled about for them. His eyelids were at half mast, enjoying the fluffy little clouds in the sky inviting him to slumber with them up high.
He clawed inside his vest, finally locating the needed med and he tried to stick it into his thigh, but nothing seemed to work quite right, his aim lazy and off. Double dipping the morphine in such a short amount of time probably had something to do with his lack of coordination, but deep in his mind, Sheppard was screaming.
He slammed the injector into his leg, filling his veins with Tabasco sauce, chili pepper and a jalapeño pick-me-up because the ephedrine didn't feel like THIS the first time. Everything glowed brighter, and a yellowish tint highlighted everything with halos and little sparkles.
God, did he feel GOOD. He stumbled around on the rocky ground until he saw Ronon's body jerk and stiffen as a blue beam hit him in the chest—dropping him like a rock.
God damn it!
Sheppard snagged his cane, hoisted himself back onto his feet and hobble-hopped as fast as his energized legs could carry him. He clutched his P90 and pulled it away from his tac vest just as his friend took another blast from the energy weapon.
“Ronon!”
“You sonuvabitch!!”
He held down the trigger, spraying the Hunter point blank with suppression fire, wobbling closer as he emptied his gun into the asshole assassin.
He was wasting ammunition, much of his fire power missing its mark, and those rounds striking the Hunter barely slowing him down.
Voulsh was on him in no time, wrenching the P90 out of his grip, ejecting the magazine and tossing the weapon aside. The Hunter backhanded the left side of his face, causing his head to snap sideways. Blood dripped down his chin from a split lip and the world teetered on the edge of blackness as he listed dangerously from the blow. Sheppard locked up his left leg to keep from falling and stared at his foe in defiance.
“If we're going to try to kill each other, why don't you take off that mask so we can do it face to face?”
Voulsh took a step back and unclasped the part of his helmet that connected at his shoulders, then undid some tabs and parts near his chin. The thing fell apart in pieces, the breathing apparatus dropping to the ground and the visor sliding into the helmet. After a moment of fiddling, the entire thing came away, revealing the gray skin of the Hunter's neck and the man who been stalking him for a week.
The hair on the Hunter's head was in tiny, short braids, each about an inch long, much like the ends of a rug. His flesh was gray, almost like a Wraith's from the lack of sunlight, with purple veins visible under the skin all across his forehead. There were two parallel scars above his left eye from what looked like a knife attack, and the pupils of his eyes were dark in a sea of deep blue.
Most of Voulsh's face was bruised from his up close encounter with his gun, his lips pale with another scar running over the corner and under his chin. The guy looked like a ghoul in many ways, except for the jet black cornbraids on his head.
“You really are ugly,” Sheppard muttered.
“I am going to enjoy this,” Voulsh cooed, the timbre of his voice deep and rich.
Sheppard cocked a challenging eyebrow and smiled. “Then I'm going to try to make it as unpleasant as possible.”
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Chapter Sixteen
A/N: Don't throw things at me, but Ronon deserved his own chapter. Not sure who's online with Potter mania going on, next update in a couple of days.
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Date: 2007-07-21 07:57 pm (UTC)And just what Sheppard needs -- a drug overdose to add to all his other woes! If I hold my breath waiting for the next chapter, will it get here faster? *grin*
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Date: 2007-07-23 12:10 am (UTC)Thank you
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Date: 2007-07-21 08:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-23 12:11 am (UTC)thanks
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Date: 2007-07-21 11:31 pm (UTC)Oh boy, please update soon!!
Love it
Jules
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Date: 2007-07-23 12:11 am (UTC)Trying to update as fast as I can.
Thank you so much!
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Date: 2007-07-22 12:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-23 12:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-22 02:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-23 12:12 am (UTC)Thnak you
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Date: 2007-07-22 04:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-23 12:13 am (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2007-07-22 05:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-23 12:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-22 05:55 am (UTC)Court
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Date: 2007-07-23 12:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-22 02:08 pm (UTC)Love the Ronon/Shep exchange. They really are very much alike. And I loved, loved that last line! So Sheppard.
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Date: 2007-07-23 12:16 am (UTC)Hehe I love me some cocky Sheppard!
Thank you
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Date: 2007-07-22 04:20 pm (UTC)Honestly, I LOVE your Ronon chapter! Indeed, his devotion and honor towards Sheppard is bar none my newest love! His willingness to be there for Sheppard, their connection and their similarities, while not physical, completely male and worrior-like, I absolutely adore and agree with. I've always felt John and Ronon had more than a little in common, and Ronon's speech about John being one of those not to be left behind; SUPURBE!!
Ronon's own battle with the hunter; good verses evil. How lovely that was!
Not an enormous Potter fan here, but even if I were, I'd not have missed this for all the world. My only deflation is that I will now have to somehow wait patiently for the next chapter *sigh*
Don't suppose you could email me once you've posted it? I certainly don't want to get behind again.
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Date: 2007-07-23 12:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-23 10:40 pm (UTC):-P
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Date: 2007-07-22 08:39 pm (UTC)Will resist the urge to throw things. :)
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Date: 2007-07-23 12:18 am (UTC)Thanks for not throwing things at me :-P
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Date: 2007-07-23 09:18 am (UTC)The fight scene between Ronon and Voulsh was fanastic. The movement was incredibly detailed, yet it didn't slow down the action at all. So often trying to accurately describe a fight makes it feel clunky and bogged down, but not here. The reader is propelled along at a high speed that really makes the action hit home.
Even if Shep survives the fight, I'm really worried about what kind of reaction he's going to have from all the drugs he's been loading into his system.
Looking forward to the showdown.
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Date: 2007-07-23 10:43 pm (UTC)I try to keep teh fight scenes fluid and somethingwe can see with our eyes....its fun if not touhg, but I just describe whats in my head.
Shep's in trouble no matter what me thinks.
*hugs*
Kristen